Written in the Stars
by WhiteDahlia13
Summary: Post-6a, after Stiles returns. Lydia and Stiles were meant to be. It was written in the stars…


Two weeks after Stiles returns from the Wild Hunt, the day after the last lacrosse game of the year.

* * *

It's early morning, and the sun is leisurely rising over Beacon Hills. A dome of sky-blue anchors blush pink and pale lavender tones to a subdued earth that is canopied with streaks of silver-coated clouds.

Lydia wakes next to Stiles. They are safely nestled in his bed, and he is lying on his stomach; left side of his face planted into the pillow, lips parted and curled up on the right as he mutters something indiscernible about lightsabers while he dreams. His expression is peaceful and content. One of his arms is tucked below his pillow and the other is draped over Lydia's waist.

She is wearing his lacrosse jersey. The one that seemed to materialize out of thin air when she stepped into his room for the first time, several weeks after he was taken from her. The one that she clutched with both hands. The one that drew tears from her eyes when she brought it to her face…just to breathe in his comforting scent, to _remember._ It was one of several precious relics that proved _Stiles is real,_ giving Lydia something to hold onto until he came back to her. The burgundy fabric glides over her skin as she carefully turns on her side.

She wipes the last traces of stardust and a few tears from her eyes, then admires the boy sleeping alongside her. The boy who looks more like a man with each passing day. Drowsily, she watches the way his dark lashes flutter and notices how his nose occasionally twitches. Awestruck, she feels the rise and fall of his back under her hand as he breathes…and she loves him so much that her eyes sting and her chest twinges.

For three months, _Stiles was gone._ Erased from her life. Snatched right out of her hands. Disappeared from view and memory with a split-second flash of lightning and a clap of thunder sounding in the distance.

But now, _Stiles is with her,_ and everything that was wrong for twelve long weeks, is magically right again.

Shifting closer, she slides beneath the reassuring weight of his arm, until they are nose to nose. His eyelashes still, and she can see that he is easing out of heavy slumber, so she brushes her lips against the corner of his mouth. When she feels his smile slowly forming in response, she can't help but smile too.

"Mmm…Lydia," Stiles exhales as she increases the pressure of her lips.

When his arm tightens around her, a spark spreads through her body, awakening every cell. She deepens the kiss. The contact pushes the last bit of sadness from her mind and soothes the ache of longing from her heart. _He is here._

She nestles her head on his pillow, patiently waiting for his eyes to open. Shortly after, the brilliant glow of his golden-brown irises appears, and her smile broadens.

"How's my star athlete this morning?" she asks in a hushed tone.

Stiles blinks. The torrent of expressions that cross his eyes in a matter of seconds tells her that he is currently being flooded with memories of the previous night. He is sorting…still sorting…then figuring it all out.

Just like that, his familiar crooked grin takes shape. It's bright but timid, and it incites an intensely warm sensation in the center of Lydia's stomach.

He cuddles closer, leaning his head on her shoulder and speaking into her neck. "Blissfully happy…and a little sore," his raspy morning voice informs her, breath caressing her skin as he kisses her collarbone.

"Aww…my poor baby," she coos. "You took quite a hit last night, but I think I can help with that," she offers, taming his messy hair with her left hand as he lifts his head to look at her.

"You _have_ helped. You're already responsible for the blissfully happy part. I mean…really… How does it keep getting better between us?"

She giggles. She, Lydia Martin, giggles… _because of Stiles,_ but she can't help it. "I don't know, but somehow it does…doesn't it?" she agrees, melting at the softness in his eyes and the way he touches her cheek, making her conscious of the fact that she is blushing.

Memories of a few hours earlier enter her mind. Just a few hours, but she wants him _again,_ and _still_ , and _more_. She can't get enough of him. She'll _never_ get enough of him…and she is more than okay with that revelation.

Lydia kisses Stiles tenderly before gently gliding her tongue across his bottom lip. His hand travels upwards, along the curve of her spine, cradling the back of her head as he weaves his fingers into her long locks.

He is beginning to turn over when a groan escapes him. "Owww…"

"Easy there, Tiger…" she cautions.

Stiles smirks, chasing her mouth as she starts to pull away. "Lyds…come on… Don't stop. Haven't I suffered enough? I'm injured. I've been maimed – _maimed_ , Lydia. I need you. I need you to make me feel better…or I may never be able to get out of this bed."

"I thought you said you were only _a little sore?"_ she questions, narrowing her eyes.

"I was trying to be the strong silent type."

"Silent? You?" she snickers.

"Lydia, _please._ Have pity on me. If—"

"Shh… I have an idea…" she hushes him.

He raises an eyebrow suggestively. "I have no doubt it's a good one."

"How about I give you a massage?"

" _Would you?_ Oh…you are the _best,_ most _perfect,_ most _beautiful_ being in the entire universe!"

She fights a smile, averting her eyes and turning her face as Stiles attempts to claim one more kiss, missing her lips and catching her cheek instead.

Lydia sits up, kneels next to him, and peels the sheets aside to examine his back. A sick feeling strikes her as her eyes first pass over the puckered circular scar on his right shoulder. It reminds her of a time she never wants to revisit. A time when Stiles tried to hide his pain from her. Shaking the unwelcome thought from her mind, she focuses on the large, newly minted bruise between his shoulder blades. What was slightly puffed and tinted to a shade of crimson last night, is now deepening to violet with varying splotches of indigo.

She winces at the sight of it; mouth screwing up into a pained-looking pout. "Oh… Stiles…" she gasps, delicately grazing her fingertips over the palm-sized contusion.

"That bad…huh?" he asks.

Clenching her teeth, she angrily grits out, "Oooo…I could just pummel that son of a—"

"Aww, Lyds…I love it when you get protective," he chuckles.

"Stiles—"

"Seriously," he elaborates, long fingers skillfully wandering between her knees. "Can I just tell you that I would _thoroughly_ enjoy watching you pummel said son of a bitch, because…well, clearly it was an illegal check, and the ref completely overlooked it…but mostly because seeing you take him down would be incredibly hot…'cause when you're annoyed, your lips get all pouty, and your gorgeous eyes get all wide… Oh…oh…and best of all, when you're _really_ pissed, that pink mark on your neck turns to bright red…and you—"

"Sti-les… _cut it out_ ," she interrupts, rolling her eyes and struggling to withhold the laugh that is tickling her belly. Straddling his torso, she moves to sit directly above the waistband of his black boxer briefs.

"Make me."

"How original," she quips.

"Hey, it's early…and I'm wounded! Forgive me if my banter is not up to its usual standard of excellence."

Lydia scoffs at his remark but leans down to kiss him, nonetheless. She takes her time, enjoying the eagerness that Stiles conveys with every part of his body; breaths lengthening and shoulders tensing as he sucks on her tongue and then nibbles on her bottom lip. He attempts rolling over to face her, but she tightens her thighs around him.

"Stop right there, Stilinski."

"Come on… That's not fair!" he protests.

"I think you'll find it _is_."

"But I can't get close to you like this."

She smiles at him even though she knows he can't see it. "Back massage, first. Sex, after. And then…you can get as close as you like."

"Promise?"

She remains quiet.

"Promise?" he repeats.

"You are relentless. You know that… Right?"

"Lydiaaa…"

"It's a good thing you're cute too…and really smart…and—"

"Lyds…"

"Alright! I promise. Okay?"

He smiles victoriously. "God, I love you."

"And I love you," she whispers into his ear before placing her hands on his upper arms and pushing herself up to a seated position.

She gingerly trails her fingers along his back as he fidgets slightly; thumbs tapping on his pillow and legs shifting restlessly. Then, she begins her work at the base of his spine, pushing the heels of her hands upwards into his sinewy muscles and sensing him relax against her.

"Mmm…" he moans, releasing a protracted breath.

"You have a knot there… Don't you?"

Stiles closes his eyes and nods into his pillow.

"Does this help?" she asks, wrapping her hands around his sides and circling her thumbs into each ridge of his rib cage.

"Yeah, that's amazing," he answers through a sharp and shallow inhale.

Lydia eases her way up, towards the midpoint of his spine, bending forward to press her lips to the nape of his neck as she speaks. "Tell me the truth," she says softly. "How much are you hurting?"

"It's not that bad. It's just tight when I take a deep breath."

"Aww…I'm sorry," she soothes, nuzzling his jaw with her nose before straightening up.

He glances over his shoulder at her. "S'okay…I feel pretty good right now."

"You should. You played a great game," she compliments while she kneads her knuckles into his serratus muscles. "I mean…scoring _three_ successive goals is one thing…but doing that when the team is down by two…in the fourth quarter…with less than five minutes left on the clock… Well, that is no small task. Did I mention that you were incredible…and that I am so proud of you?"

"You did…but I don't mind hearing it again," he admits, crinkling up his nose as he grins.

"It reminded me…" she starts, but her voice trails off, suddenly choked up by the fact that she can draw on the memory so easily. Not like before. Not like when Stiles was gone, and all of her memories of him were out of reach.

"Lydia, what is it?"

"I…I was going to say that it reminded me of sophomore year…the championship game… You were incredible then, too."

"I didn't start out so well that night. The first three quarters were kind of a mess," he acknowledges.

"You were just…a little nervous. You turned it around though."

"That was some night… Huh?"

"Yeah," she replies pensively.

"Well, I definitely preferred last night's game…for a lot of reasons, but mostly, 'cause…" He pauses and clears his throat.

She can feel his body tremble underneath her as he emits a shaky breath. "Go ahead…" she encourages, gently running her hands along his sides.

"Because we're together now," he explains, eyes flaring with the morning light as he blinks. "Last night, you didn't just smile at me from the bleachers, you _ran_ to me on the field…you threw your arms around me, and you told me you love me…and you covered my gross sweaty face in kisses."

"Stiles…sweaty, yes…but gross… _never_. I love your face. I _missed_ your face." She hears her own voice quiver as her throat constricts with emotion.

"I missed you too, Lyds."

She lets her hand rest at the side of his jaw as she traces the curve of his ear with her index finger. When she glances down, her eyes fall upon the space above his bruise – and she sees it.

She sees it, and she freezes.

Emerald-green eyes that were already misting, are now pooling with tears that quickly surge over her lashes and cascade down her cheeks. With reckless abandon, they splash onto Stiles's skin, dash along the width of his back and the ridges of his spine, beading up and veining to merge with each other as they travel like raindrops on a windowpane.

"Lydia, you're crying."

"No…I'm not..."

He ignores her denial. "What's wrong?"

"It's…you…" she sobs.

"What's me? What did I do?" he asks, tensing with concern.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything…but… It's you – Ursa Minor…Polaris… That's what she meant. She knew I would find you…" she rambles, tracing the pattern of moles that caught her eye and prompted her memory.

He abruptly rolls onto his back to face her.

"Stiles, don't… You'll hurt your back."

"Shh…never mind that," he insists, reaching up to cup her face and wipe her tears. Then, he guides her body down to his chest to hug her close. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing is wrong…everything is right. _You're here."_ She tucks her nose under his jaw, tacking delicate kisses to his neck while her tears continue to descend.

"Yeah, I'm here…" he assures her, hands slipping past the jersey she is wearing to connect with her bare skin. "I'm here…except…I don't understand what's happening, and you are kind of breaking my heart right now."

"I'm sorry. I… It's just…I wasn't expecting this."

"Lyds, _please_ help me out here. What weren't you expecting?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time. You can tell me," he croons, strengthening his hold on her.

"You're gonna think I'm crazy."

He presses his soft lips to the crown of her head, his tone sweet and low when he reminds her, "Hey, I thought I told you a long time ago…there is _nothing_ you could say to me that would make you sound crazy."

Her mouth quirks into a half-smile at the effortless retrieval of another memory.

"Come on…it's okay," he coaxes further.

She focuses on the sensation of his gentle hands; one flat across the small of her back, the other strumming the side of her thigh. His heartbeat is steady against her chest, and his stomach is firm and warm under hers.

"Did I ever tell you that when I was a little girl…about four or five years old…my grandmother Lorraine and I used to star gaze?"

"No."

"Well…on cool nights, she would wrap me up in this enormous quilt, then we would sit on the docks near the lake house, and she would teach me the names of the constellations and the stars."

Stiles listens, lifting one hand to smooth her hair, an incomplete breath breezing across her forehead as he gifts her a kiss above her right eyebrow.

"The first constellation she taught me was Ursa Minor. She said it was the most important one for me to learn…and that I needed to remember it because it would help me someday."

"Important…like…from a navigational standpoint?"

"That's what I always assumed."

"But now…" he leads.

"I think it was more than that."

"Some sort of banshee prediction?"

"Maybe," she ponders, trailing her fingers up and down his bicep. "Back then, my parents were fighting all the time. They hardly got through _one_ day without a shouting match. During the day, I would crawl inside the closet in my room with a few books and a flashlight, and I'd practice reading and writing. It…"

Before she proceeds, Lydia feels Stiles shudder beneath her. "Oh…Lydia," he sighs.

She doesn't have to see his face to comprehend how deeply her admission affects him. She knows, because his pain affects her the same way – it hurts.

Lightly pressing her lips to his chest, she hopes to soothe them both. "It helped to block out the sound of my parents' arguing for a while. But at night, I would have these awful unsettling dreams…you know the ones I've told you about…where I'm lost in the woods and it's so dark that I never find my way out."

"Those go back that far?"

She nods against him, and a few more droplets shake loose from the corners of her eyes. "Yes. I had them almost every night. I would wake up terrified…but for some reason, I would refuse to open my eyes. Lorraine would hold me in her lap, and dry my tears, and ask me to recite the names of the stars that make up Ursa Minor. She told me that if I was brave enough to open my eyes, I would never be lost in the dark…because I would be able to find that constellation, and the North Star would guide me in the right direction."

Lydia slides off Stiles's chest to lie next to him on the bed. He gravitates towards her like a satellite; following her movements, keeping his eyes on her, patiently waiting for her to continue. She slips her arm around his body and encourages him closer.

"Stiles, Ursa Minor is on your back." With her left hand, she reaches between his shoulder blades, directly above his bruise. "Right here…" She gingerly begins pressing the pads of her fingertips to specific points on his skin, listing the names of the stars as she speaks. "Polaris – the North Star, Yildun, then there's Epsilon, Zeta, and Eta Ursae Minoris, then Kochab and Pherkad. This _has_ to mean something. Right? It's like…my grandmother was telling me you were here for me all along…that all I had to do was look for you. It's like she knew I need you in my life." Her voice is scarcely louder than a whisper when she concludes, "It's like she knew we belong together."

He is staring at her, as though he is hanging on every word. She is captivated by the power of his gaze. The love he conveys in a simple look causes her heart to thump wildly, and his face is so near to hers that his breath tickles her lips when his voice tremors over the words, "I…I don't know what to say. I'm pretty sure every thought I ever had just flew out of my head."

Lydia grasps his hand and places it over her heart. She wants Stiles to feel the effect he has on her. "That's okay…because for once...I do. I've spent too long refusing to open my eyes…trying not to see what was right in front of me…because I was afraid. But you changed that…because no matter what happens, I can always trust that you'll be there for me – without question, without hesitation, without fail…not because you have to be, but because you want to. You are the one constant in my life. When you were gone, I felt like I was stuck in one of my nightmares – I was lost…and empty…and heartbroken. But then, you came back to me…and I have a direction again. Stiles, you're my North Star."

His eyes well up, cheeks deepening in hue as he quickly wets his lips. "Lydia, you are mine too. I mean it – _you_ make everything make sense. You brought me home. You brought me back to you – to _us_ , and there is nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

Stiles kisses her; slow and sincere. She is bewitched by the way his body reacts to her; his heart accelerating against her forearm, the pulse in his neck contracting under her fingers, and the enticing heat of his skin burning right through the thin material of the jersey that still needlessly separates them. Besotted with love, her entire body flutters with need for him. Her eyebrows cinch together, her throat tightens from withholding additional tears, and a persistent throbbing, one that is impossible to ignore, ignites between her thighs.

When he pulls away, Lydia opens her eyes, immediately softening at the sight of his handsome face. "Stiles, I am _so_ in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too."

"I need you."

"I need you too, but…" he smiles, peeking beneath the covers, "you have far too much clothing on."

She arches an eyebrow. "Do you think you can help me with that?"

He closes his eyes briefly as he nods. "Yeah, I can definitely do that."

Stiles finds the edge of the jersey Lydia slept in, frees her of it, and tosses it behind him; bright white number 24 catching her eye as it sails through the air and lands near the bottom of the bed. She draws him into a kiss as his palms and digits explore her body, caressing her breasts, her stomach, and the curves of her hips. He ducks underneath the sheets and blankets, his breath carrying the whisper of her name as it dances along her ribs. Lydia is unable to stifle a whimper while his perfect mouth connects with the sensitive skin below her navel. Her hand slides to the nape of his neck, keeping him close. His thumbs hook the narrow sides of her panties, and he gradually drags them downwards, gentle calloused fingertips gliding over every inch of her legs. When Stiles gets to her ankles, she hastily kicks the sheer black garment aside.

The room falls quiet. He hovers over her, bracing himself on his elbows as he kisses her; lips creating shapes with hers in such passion that it makes her head spin. Lydia touches his face because she aches for a glimpse of his beautiful eyes, and he breaks from their kiss because _he is Stiles,_ and he always understands her…even the things she can barely articulate. His amber flecks sparkle as he pauses to look down at her in a way that she helplessly tries…and fails to describe on a daily basis – like she is the inspiration for everything he does, like only she can give him everything he want, like he believes she hung the stars in Ursa Minor, then mapped them out on his back just so he would know he is her perfect match.

Moving her hands to his chest and grazing the sides of his torso with her fingertips, she revels in the feeling of him above her – not dominating nor controlling, but protective and caring. He lifts his hand to her cheek. She can feel his touch even before their skin makes contact, and when he does reach her, it's like the first time all over again; light as a feather, heavy with emotion. Stiles is reverent and loving, in a way that makes Lydia realize no one else's touch could ever compare to his. No one else could ever matter to her as much as he does. No one else could ever make her feel the things he makes her feel. She holds still until her desire for him wins out. Then, she leans forward and deliberately tugs the sides of his boxer briefs downwards before letting herself fall onto her pillow…waiting for him to come back to her.

Hardly a minute of time passes, but it seems like an eternity before the room brightens with sunlight as Stiles settles over her once more. Lydia bites her bottom lip; the warmth of his taut stomach encouraging butterflies in hers. Trembling with anticipation, she grips his biceps, watching as a half-smile graces his mouth when he lines up against her. Lydia nods, because she knows he is waiting for a signal from her. Then, Stiles pushes inside with a lust-filled groan that takes her breath away. Her body relaxes, heat spreading everywhere when she hooks her legs around him and instinctively rises up to meet his first thrust. Both of them sigh with relief as they naturally ascend into a comfortable rhythm; unhurried and easy at first, but tension almost instantly rebuilding as they begin to take each other higher and higher.

Lydia clings to Stiles, crossing her arms around his neck to bring his face as close to hers as possible. He scatters kisses along her throat while their bodies collide with unrestrained communication of need. When Lydia presses her fingers to each of the moles on his back that mirror their constellation, Stiles grinds harder in response…and it feels so good that she never wants him to stop.

Nuzzling her face with his nose and gingerly impressing her cheekbones with his lips, Stiles offers his love in actions, then follows those actions with words. "I love you _so much_ ," he tells her. "Lydia, there aren't enough words for how much."

"I know, Stiles. I know," she answers, speaking directly into his mouth before running a hand through his silky hair and stretching up to kiss his forehead. "I feel the same. Words are never enough…not for us."

Lydia's love for Stiles begins to overwhelm her – every part of her being. Her mind is flashing with memories of him. Her heart is slamming into her sternum, practically reshaping the bones with its tenacious pounding. Blood is pumping through her veins so furiously that she tingles all over. Her stomach is swirling with excitement, her limbs go weak, and her core is throbbing with pleasure from the contact between them.

For three months, she was without him. Months in which a vast hollowness inside her chest grew larger every day, until she felt like nothing but an empty shell. Months that passed so slowly, she wondered if an end to her suffering even existed.

Now, _he is here_ – finally. And now, that she wishes time would decelerate, it races by at the speed of light. She feels like she just got him back, but two weeks have already flown by. Lydia wants nothing more than to hold onto Stiles _forever_ , yet she knows that forever won't be long enough. Her eyes are brimming, but his touch, and his words, and his body, and his abiding love make her feel so good that the tears don't fall – they evaporate, condense into a shimmering cloud that is saturated with the remnants of her pain, so they can be uplifted to the heavens by the healing power of his affection.

Their eyes meet as Stiles takes Lydia higher still – so close to the sky that she can touch the stars in broad daylight. He kisses her over and over…in ways she has always dreamed of being kissed. Sometimes barely skimming her lips with his own, deliberate and teasing tongue seeking permission into her mouth. Other times marked by pressure and fiery determination, silently voicing weeks of unbearable longing. With every kiss he somehow manages to take what Lydia knows he wants for himself, while still giving her everything she needs.

And he gives…and he gives…and he gives…

…until her face flushes with heat, and every muscle in her body clenches, and she can feel herself tightening around him.

But Stiles is not done with Lydia yet. His arms encircle her body, and he swiftly rolls her on top of him. Lean thighs support her back as he keeps hold of her waist, repeatedly pulling her against him, over and over, until she is dizzy with love and overcome with desire. A shallow breath gets caught so high in her throat that she can't even moan in appreciation. Her whole body is scorching from the transfer of his heat, beads of sweat trickling down her chest as she hungrily rocks into him. She tries to balance herself, propping her palms on his chest, but her arms feel liquid and lazy, unable to support the slight weight of her own body.

Stiles seems to know it. He is unraveling beneath her – breaths abbreviated, eyes blinking rapidly, but he still holds her securely – one hand curled around her hip, the other finding its place above her left breast so she doesn't fall. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is unruly, but his eyes are soft and his mouth is begging to be kissed again. Covering his hand with hers and lacing their fingers together, Lydia wonders if there is any greater satisfaction than knowing how good she can make Stiles feel or if there is any better enlightenment than the presence of his love. She is sure there isn't. She leans down to greet his lips, enjoying the sounds he makes which assure her that he is getting close. Stiles thrusts sharply, again…and again striking the sweetest spot inside of her, until they are both writhing to a climax with an intensity that could propel her to the deepest limits of the galaxy.

She thinks she could get lost out there, aimlessly wander the darkness, grieving for all eternity from the lack of him. But _Stiles is here,_ and Lydia is anchored to him. _She remembers him._ They belong _together._ Smiling, she kisses the stars with her fingertips, and _with eyes wide open_ , Lydia looks to Stiles…so she can find her way home, happily guided by the light in his eyes.


End file.
